


singing vows before we exchange smoke rings

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Eating Disorders, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:24:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Zayn can't remember what it feels like to not remember everything he's eaten. He remembers the sip of orange juice he'd had two days ago - about two tablespoons' worth, or 14 calories. He remembers the plain rice cake (35 calories) with one tablespoon of salsa (5 calories) he'd had last week. He especially remembers the small Mint Oreo Blizzard (550 fucking calories) from Dairy Queen he'd had 46 days ago; he's devoted quite some time to thinking about that blizzard - thinking about how much thinner he might be now if he hadn't caved and agreed to eat it."</p>
<p>In which Zayn has been struggling with an eating disorder for some months, and the boys are just now beginning to notice something's wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to stress the trigger warnings. Zayn does a lot of calorie-counting in this, and there's also a lot of discussion of the lengths he goes to in order to hide his eating habits. I don't want anyone who is likely to be triggered to read this, nor do I want anyone using this as a means to learn different ways to hide an eating disorder. I feel dumb saying "proceed with caution," but, um... proceed with caution.

Twitter questions - Zayn's least favourite part of the show. He doesn't want to do the macarena for the billionth time; he doesn't want to make a human pyramid; he just wants to _sing._ Instead, here he is, listening to Liam call some girl 'babe,' and thank her for asking them what they ate for breakfast this morning. How original.

"I don't even remember what we ate this morning. Where was it we went, again, lads? It's difficult to remember, we were in an entirely different country this morning," Louis is saying.

There is a general acquiescent murmur of uncertainty from the other boys, but Zayn says nothing. He says nothing, even though he knows that the boys went to a Starbucks at the airport. He knows that Louis and Niall both got panini; Harry got one of those apple and cheese bistro boxes; and Liam got a slice of lemon poppy seed loaf. Louis' tea had no additives; Niall's had cream and sugar; and Liam and Harry both got caramel macchiatos - Liam's hot, Harry's iced.

Zayn knows this because he'd watched them consume everything while sucking down his bottle of powerade zero - painstakingly disguised as ordinary, calorie-filled powerade. Zayn had surreptitiously purchased both kinds and emptied the calorie-filled one into the sink. He'd had to rinse it thoroughly to make sure that none of the calories were left to mingle with his calorie-free beverage - and even then, he'd counted it as 50 calories, just to be on the safe side.

And still he says nothing as Louis says, "Sorry we can't give you a better answer, there, babe! I guess it just wasn't that memorable!"

Zayn can't remember what it feels like to not remember everything he's eaten. He remembers the sip of orange juice he'd had two days ago - about two tablespoons' worth, or 14 calories. He remembers the plain rice cake (35 calories) with one tablespoon of salsa (5 calories) he'd had last week. He _especially_ remembers the small Mint Oreo Blizzard (550 _fucking_ calories) from Dairy Queen he'd had 46 days ago; he's devoted quite some time to thinking about that blizzard - thinking about how much thinner he might be now if he hadn't caved and agreed to eat it.

In school, he'd never had much talent for mathematics; while he excelled in many of his subjects, numbers were always mystifying to him. Now, however, all it takes is a glance to have the numbers adding up in his head. Always, no matter how small the number, it's somehow too large. The meal he'd had two nights ago - a half cup of iceberg lettuce with one tablespoon of balsamic vinegar - while vastly lower in calories than Niall's double down from KFC, with a comparison of 22 calories to 600 calories, was still somehow _too much_ , never mind that it had been his only meal of the day. And his weight - 8 stone 11 - was also somehow far too vast, despite giving him an underweight BMI.

BMI was unreliable, Zayn reasoned. Everyone knew that BMI wasn't a good indication of a healthy weight. Sure, his BMI _said_ he was underweight, but only very slightly. And if he were truly underweight, then his stomach wouldn't bunch up into grotesque rolls whenever he was seated; his upper arms wouldn't be so flabby; he wouldn't have that unsightly double chin whenever he bowed his head.

Lost in his thoughts, Zayn almost misses Louis trying to involve him in one of the questions. He catches his name and looks up in confusion.

"What's the question, then, Lou?" he says, struggling to manipulate his expression into one of interest.

"If you could be any food, what would you be?"

_Why are all these fucking questions about food?_ Zayn thinks, irritably. Do One Direction fans think of nothing else? Sitting on their arses at their concerts, stuffing their faces with popcorn and candy floss and chocolate bars that he can't eat, asking him questions about food he doesn't want to think about. He immediately feels uncharitable. If there's one thing he hates about his diet, it's how cantankerous it makes him. He's used to being laid back, for the most part, but now it feels like any mention of food or appearance or exercise has him on edge.

"Erm," he says, stalling for time. He doesn't want to think of his favourite foods, because bringing to  mind the foods he loves brings with it the danger that he'll be unable to get it out of his mind. If he thinks about samosas or chicken or chocolate, or any of the other foods that he loves but hasn't been able to allow himself for ages, then his mind will focus on them, fixating on the idea until he loses all control and binges. "Erm," he says again, casting about for an idea, "Erm, lemon poppy seed loaf."

He feels like the biggest idiot on the planet. They're all going to remember that that's what Liam had for breakfast this morning, realize that Zayn knew what they'd eaten, and wonder why he didn't say anything. Worse still, they're all going to think he chose lemon poppy seed loaf because he wants Liam's mouth on him. He doesn't. He definitely doesn't want Liam's mouth on him. God, he feels like such an idiot.

"An interesting choice, Zayn," Louis replies. "I've never taken you as much of a loaf guy, lemon poppy seed or otherwise."

"Yeah, I dunno, just said the first thing that came to mind, mate," he says, hurriedly. "Anyway, Niall, Niall, what would you be?"

They all stare at him. Oh god, they've seen through him completely. He considers pitching himself into the audience, an action he's pretty sure would mean certain death. Before he can say anything to make himself seem less stupid, Niall says,

"Already done mine, Zayn-o, get your head in the game, man! I said celery, 'cause then no one would eat me. 'Cause no one likes celery."

Zayn likes celery - or rather, he likes its caloric value. At 10 calories for a large stalk, it's a safe food.

"If _you_ were celery, I'm sure everyone would want a taste, Niall," he says, because why not. His words are met with screams and cheers from the girls in the audience, and raucous laughter from Niall.

Mercifully, that's the last question. Back to the platform; back to singing. He reaches for a bottle of water on the platform, taking a long sip as the opening music to Last First Kiss begins. Harry, beside him, claps him on the shoulder, and Zayn stumbles slightly, before smiling rakishly. He can get through this; this is the bit he cares about. 


	2. Chapter 2

After the show, the boys are straight off to another city.

"Hear those twitter questions?" Niall asked, "So many about food. I'm starved, now."

Twitter questions finished over three hours ago, and somehow they're still haunting Zayn. And twitter questions hadn't even been the only time he'd been forced to think about food during the concert. At one point, Niall and Louis had changed a song lyric to be about food; Harry had taken a bag of candies thrown on stage and tried to convince him to eat some; and now, he's sure, they're going to be making a stop and he'll be forced to deal with food yet again.

"Yeah, I could do with something to eat, too," Liam is replying. "What d'you say we make a stop?"

_No_ , Zayn wants to scream. _No, let's not make a stop. Please, let's keep driving. Let's keep driving and never stop for food until I'm thin. Please, let's not stop._

Instead, he shrugs noncommittally, hoping someone other than him will veto the suggestion. Unfortunately, everyone else seems to think it's a great idea, and fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in an empty 24-hour McDonald's.

There's nothing he can eat at McDonald's; nothing that is "safe" for him. He doesn't trust their salads, and, although he knows it's ridiculous, he's paranoid that they've even managed to pack some extra calories into their kids' packs of apple slices. Zayn equates McDonald's with being _fatfatfat_ , and he can't bring himself to eat a mouthful of even their healthiest options.

He casts his eyes over the menu anyway, feigning interest. It's all too soon when Liam is asking him what he wants.

"Erm," he says, immediately wishing he'd taken the time to plan his response, so as to avoid sounding like an indecisive idiot, "erm, nothing, I don't think. I'm not actually too hungry. Yeah, I don't think I'll have anything."

He wishes that this McDonald's was home to a pool of quicksand or perhaps a black hole, so he wouldn't have to feel the cloud of embarrassment settling over him at the awkwardness of that sentence.

"Are you sure?" Liam asks, and the look of concern on his face is exactly what Zayn was hoping to avoid. "I can't remember you eating lunch today... or breakfast, for that matter. Zayn -"

"If twitter questions is anything to go by, you can't even remember what _you_ ate for breakfast," Zayn interjects quickly. "How do you expect to remember what I've eaten, Liam? I'm fine, I promise. If I get hungry I'll just nick some of yours, you know me."

But Liam does not look placated. There is a crease in his brow, and now the other boys are turning to look at Zayn in concern, too.

"You have been eating, though, mate, yeah?" Louis says.

"'Course," Zayn says, hoarsely. "'Course I have been. I'm just - just not hungry at the moment."

"Because with all the running about we're doing on stage," says Harry, "you need to be eating more than usual, not less, Zayn. You need to keep your energy up, buddy."

Zayn needs them to shut up. He can feel the irritability rising inside of him, knows that it's only moments away from bubbling to the surface. He needs them to stop talking about it _right now_ , before he says something that he'll regret.

"I know, Harry," he says, tight-lipped. "I'm fine."

"Okay," Harry replies, uncertainly, exchanging skeptical looks with the other three boys, but clearly ready to let the subject drop.

Zayn should be relieved. His anger should be decreasing. He should be ready to let the subject pass, just like his bandmates. Instead, inexplicably, he is even angrier. While the last thing he wants is for the boys to uncover his secret, he feels irrationally betrayed at the fact that they aren't persisting in their interrogation. While he doesn't think what he's doing is _wrong,_ he knows that his bandmates would probably want him to follow a less intense diet. They'd probably consider his eating habits unhealthy, and Zayn feels angry that they aren't more concerned, that they've basically established that he hasn't eaten all day and are willing to drop the subject. Their continued interrogation would be the worst thing, Zayn's sure - but somehow their willingness to let it go is just as bad. He tries to calm himself down, to empty his brain of its ire. He can't let anything show, he has to appear normal. Unfortunately, all it takes is a glance from Niall as they're leaving the McDonald's and a "You're sure you don't want anything, before we go?" to set him off. Before he can control himself, before he can even think about how he should be controlling himself, Zayn is exploding.

"For fuck's sake!" he yells. "I'm fucking fine, haven't I just said a million times? Can you get off my back and stop pestering me?" He shoves past Louis and through the entrance of the McDonald's, but out of nowhere, vertigo overtakes him, and he has to brace himself against the exterior wall of the fast food restaurant. He hasn't managed to right himself and the spots haven't quite vanished from his vision by the time the other boys have pushed out of the restaurant and followed him. He hears a jumble of concerned voices, before he feels an arm around him and a soothing voice in his ear. Liam.

"I'm sorry, "he hears himself saying, although his voice seems muted in his ears. "I'm - I'm not feeling well, I haven't been feeling well all day. I think I have the flu, it's why I'm not hungry, and my head hurts so much, and I shouldn't have yelled, and it's not an excuse, but, yeah, I think I have the flu and I didn't want to tell anyone, because - because you know how I hate admitting it when I'm sick."

Through blurry, barely restored vision, he sees the other boys nodding sympathetically.

"It's alright, mate," Niall says. "I know you didn't mean it, it's cool."

Liam, however, doesn't seem too convinced.

"Zayn, you nearly just passed out. You need to _eat_ when you're sick, or you won't have the strength to get better. You need to eat, and get lots of fluids, and lots of _rest._ You don't need to be skipping meals and hopping about on stage pretending to be alright."

"C'mon Liam," Zayn says, vision and head finally clear. "We've all performed while sick, it's no big deal. And I wouldn't have been able to keep anything down if I'd eaten - even the smell of the fast food in there was making me nauseous."

Liam does not look appeased; he just looks increasingly concerned.

"Anyway, we can talk about this more on the bus," says Zayn, quickly. "Or not. We could also not talk about it on the bus. But whatever we should do, it should definitely happen on the bus."

"Of course," Liam says immediately, shaking himself. "Do you... are you alright to get to the bus? I can... I can give you a hand, or carry you, or -"

"I'm not an invalid, I can walk, Liam," Zayn snaps, backtracking when he sees the look on Liam's face. "But thank you, " he says, more softly.  

They make their way to the bus. Inwardly, Zayn is feeling anything but thankful for Liam's offer. The mere thought of Liam carrying him has made him feel even more unwell. Although buff and impressively strong, Liam would probably struggle with Zayn's weight. The thought of Liam holding Zayn, of feeling how much he weighs, makes Zayn want to die. He thinks of Liam lifting him and giving him piggybacks in the past and feels embarrassed knowing how difficult it must have been for Liam to bear his weight. He can't believe he ever let anyone carry his massive self. The memory alone makes him cringe.

Liam sees the face he pulls and immediately slows his pace.

"What's wrong?" he says, "Are you okay?"

"Relax, Liam," Zayn says. "Just a twinge from my migraine again. I'll be fine, I think I just need some sleep."

"If you're sure, Zayn," Liam says, before standing aside to let Zayn ascend the steps to the bus ahead of him. Zayn can sense Liam's hand hovering over the small of his back, clearly unwilling to risk annoying Zayn by actually applying the pressure, but too worried about Zayn to let him climb the stairs entirely unassisted. Zayn wants to be annoyed at the unnecessary concern, but somehow Liam is too endearing. Keeping his face forward, Zayn bites down on his lip to keep from smiling. He's so lucky to have a friend like Liam. He's so undeserving of a friend like Liam.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this has garnered considerably better response than I anticipated. I guess the pressure is on for me not to disappoint.

In the weeks that follow, Zayn has to be even more cautious. He's able to get away with a couple of days of pretending to be too ill to eat anything, but eventually he has to feign recovery, and once he's declared himself cured of the flu, he finds himself with four overly concerned bandmates mothering him at every opportunity.

There's Harry lecturing him about the importance of a balanced diet; there's Louis, pressing candy bars and sandwiches and burgers into Zayn's reluctant hands; there's Niall, refusing to eat his leftovers, insisting that Zayn needs more meat on his bones.

Above all, there is Liam, who doesn't lecture as much as the other boys, but is always _looking_ at Zayn, worry written across his face. Zayn's body feels even heavier beneath the weight of Liam's gaze; he tries not to picture what Liam must be seeing - Zayn's thighs spreading over the bus seat, taking up way more space than they deserve; Zayn's flabby stomach, pushing out over the waistband of his jeans  - but more often than not it's the only thing he can focus on, hating himself while wondering how Liam can even bear to spend so much time watching something as unsightly as him.

What with all this extra attention, the need for secrecy intensifies. Zayn goes for extended smoke breaks and returns with crumpled up fast food bags, tells them that he's already eaten while trying not to feel too guilty about the wasted food, dumped in a bin moments after it was purchased; he grabs whatever junk food he can find from the tour bus' cupboards and retreats with it into his bunk, emerging hours later with empty bags and wrappers, hiding the food in his pillow case until he can furtively throw it away; he makes it look as though he is constantly eating - after all, they can hardly accuse him of not eating enough if he makes it appear as though he is constantly stuffing his face.

After a couple of weeks of this, the boys' concern decreases - all but for Liam's, whose staring escalates into touching. His hands are always at Zayn's waist, brushing against Zayn's ribs, rubbing carefully at his shoulder blades, and all that Zayn can think is how he wishes he were _thinner_ so that he could appreciate the touching. Liam's touches had once made him feel giddy and excited, but now they cause his throat to fill with bile. Now, the touches make him want to pull away lest Liam feel the fat that, despite his increasing efforts to get rid of it, rests stubbornly on his body.

He wishes he knew how to make Liam lose interest, just as the other boys have done. He wishes there were a magic word that he could say that would make Liam's frowns disappear. Liam keeps trying to disguise his worry as jokes, which is almost worse - "You need to eat more, mate, you're going to have to punch another hole in your belt soon," and "You're not going to be able to borrow clothes from us anymore if you get any smaller - you might have to actually start packing your own stuff!"

Zayn's stopped borrowing their clothes months ago, but not because he's worried about being too small for them. Quite the opposite. He doesn't need to pull on any of Liam's shirts to know that they'll be stretched tight across his ugly body, fabric barely stretching to conceal his stomach. He doesn't want to pull on Louis' jeans only to have them get stuck halfway up his massive thighs. He's not going to increase his embarrassment by trying to borrow their clothes when he knows they won't fit him anyway.

If he had his way, he'd wear nothing but huge sweatpants and baggy hoodies until the end of time - or at least until he's thin. As it is, Zayn wears skinny jeans and t-shirts on stage every night, and tries to see it as incentive to lose weight. Every time he sees himself in his concert outfits, he considers it punishment for not doing a good enough job of losing the weight and tries to use the knowledge that people will see the tight clothes clinging to his repugnant body as inspiration to do better.

He doesn't notice the way the once tight jeans gape off of his legs or the way his body is consumed by too-large shirts; he doesn't notice how his leather jacket drapes over his shoulders and makes him look like a child playing dress-up; and he certainly doesn't notice that Liam's worried touches are all about discerning Zayn's weight loss, stealthily checking by the feel of Zayn's bones to see if he's eating as often as he claims to be.

Zayn's life is full of contradictions and the frustrations that emerge because of these contradictions. Whenever he has the chance to weigh himself, the scale tells him that he's losing weight. When he has to tighten his belt, that, too, tells him that he's losing weight. But when he looks at himself in the mirror, well. On his best days he sees no change at all. On his worst days, he sees _too much_ everywhere, too much of his stomach and too much of his thighs and too much fat around his face.

Even worse are the contradictions rampant in the things his boys say to him. There are constant compliments paid to his cheekbones and his jaw-line that Zayn can't understand.  His cheeks are too puffy and he's taken to shaving as seldom as possible, because he likes the way the facial hair hides the fat around his jaw. He can't understand why his best friends are lying to him. He doesn't want to think that they're mocking his weight. He knows in his heart that they aren't like that, and feels guilty for even thinking that they could be capable of such cruelty, but he can't escape the paranoia in his brain, insisting that everyone is laughing at him. He tries to reason with himself, tries to make himself accept that they're complimenting him in an attempt to make him feel better about himself.  Whether they're making fun or trying to make him feel better, however, he'd rather they stop. He hates compliments, can't handle receiving them, never knows what to say to convey the emotions he feels.

He wishes there were a way to say, "I know that you're lying, but it's probably coming from a good place, it's probably because you want me to feel better about myself, so thank you for that, but could you not, because your compliments only make me think about how much I don't deserve them, how far off I am from actually being anything like the version of myself that your compliments describe, and it only makes me feel worse about myself, so could you please avoid saying anything about my appearance, don't say anything bad about it, but don't say anything good about it, please just never mention my appearance, I hate thinking about it and I hate hearing you talk about it because I want to be able to pretend that you don't notice anything about my appearance, I don't want to think about you thinking about my appearance," that didn't result in him sounding like a complete nutcase.

Mostly, he just wishes he could be thin so he wouldn't have to worry so much about everything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me unconvincingly trying to make this sound more English by saying "braces" instead of "suspenders."

There is a break in the tour, but not in their work schedule, as they jet off to America for some award show. Zayn isn't looking forward to it; all of them are always vastly more nervous when performing to celebrity crowds than when performing to fans, and it drains the enjoyment out of the performance. His excitement decreases even more when he sees the outfit Caroline has picked out for him.

It looks incredibly form fitting. In fact, it looks way too small for him. There's no way he can wear it on stage - wear it on _national television._ No way in hell. But Caroline is looking at him expectantly, and he knows she likes how good he usually is about going along with her styling options, likes how easy he is to please in terms of outfits, and he can't let her down, so he takes the clothes and begins to shuffle off to one of the toilets to get changed.

Caroline's expectant look turns into one of confusion, as she says "Zayn Malik, since when are you so shy? Can't change in front of me anymore?"

Zayn forces a smile. "Need to use the toilet anyway, might as well get changed in there while I'm at it," he says, and his voice sounds incredibly unconvincing to his own ears, but she nods and lets him leave.

He becomes even more discomfited while putting the outfit on. Despite appearing to be several sizes too small for him, he struggles to keep the jeans from slipping down his thighs. Tucking in the shirt in an attempt to have more substance about his waist with which to keep the jeans up does nothing to help; the jeans refuse to remain on his hips. He bites his lip and holds the jeans up with his hands, unsure of how to proceed. He could ask Caroline for a belt, but he's not sure if the belts available would fit him; he could ask her for braces, but she might wonder why he needs them, assuming she even has any to give him. Before he can make a decision, Caroline is knocking at the door, asking him if everything is alright with the outfit.

"Yes," he replies, "yes, the outfit is wicked as always, Caroline," he says. "But I was wondering - I was wondering if I could maybe wear braces with it? I'm really feeling braces at the moment."

There's silence for a moment, and then, "You know I'd let you wear whatever you want, Zayn, but I don't think braces are the best fit with this outfit; besides, I haven't brought any with me. If you would have let me know, Zayn, I could have planned a different outfit, but as it is, we don't have time."

Zayn rests his head against the wall, unable to respond.

"I'm sorry, Zayn," he hears from outside the door, and he immediately feels guilty for making Caroline feel apologetic about the outfit choice.

"No, Caroline, it's fine," Zayn says quickly. "I really... I really love the outfit. I'm just - the jeans don't fit quite right, and I thought that that might help, but it's no trouble, really, I'm sorry."

He can almost hear her frowning through the door.

"What do you mean, the jeans don't fit? We only took your measurements for them a month or so ago. Open the door, Zayn."

There's a pause.

"Come on, Zayn, let me in."

Reluctantly, Zayn opens the door to reveal Caroline. Almost instantly, her eyes widen.

"They're not even staying up on their own, did I give you the right jeans? Maybe I gave you one of the other boys' by mistake, they shouldn't be that big on you. Let me go check with the other boys to make sure they all have the right size."

Zayn knows that these jeans can't have been meant for any of the other boys, because his bandmates are all smaller than him, not bigger. What must have happened, he reasons, is that whoever received his measurements a month ago must have looked at the numbers, thought, _there is no way in hell that that whale is this small_ , and overcompensated when choosing something bigger for him.

Caroline returns with a frown and the rest of Zayn's band, and from the looks on their faces, Zayn knows that their concern about his eating habits is going to return in even more ferocious spirit than before.

"None of them have the wrong jeans, Zayn," she says. "Have you really lost that much weight, sweetie? I knew you looked thinner, but those measurements weren't taken too long ago, and the outfit doesn't fit you at all. It's not even that the jeans don't stay up - the top is way too loose as well."

Zayn knew that the jeans wouldn't stay up, obviously, but the bit about the shirt being loose was news to him. It hadn't _felt_ tight, but he'd managed to convince himself that it was clinging to him in all the places it ought not to.

"Erm, yeah. I didn't really notice I'd lost weight?" he says, before backtracking at the expressions on their faces, "I mean, yeah, I'd noticed, but I didn't think it was that much... we're on tour, we've all lost weight, I mean, it's to be expected -"

"A little bit of weight is to be expected, maybe. Although, for the record," says Harry, "Liam and I have both put on weight - muscle weight, yeah, but we definitely haven't lost weight."

"He's right, mate," Louis agrees. "We've all experienced weight fluctuations on tour before, but nothing like what's happening with you. With our schedule, you really need to be eating more."

"I _have_ been eating!" Zayn exclaims desperately. "You've - you've _seen_ me eating, you know I'm eating. How can you tell me to eat more, when I've been eating just _fine?_

"Okay," says Louis, holding up his hands defensively, "Okay. But if your eating habits are fine, then it doesn't make sense that you're losing so much weight. Maybe there's something else going on here. Maybe you should see a doctor, Zayn."

Zayn's blood freezes. His mind stutters and he can barely feel his body, what with the panic that shoots through him. "Doctor? Why would that be necessary?" he eventually manages to stammer out, "It's just a bit of weight, it's not even a big deal."

"Zayn," comes Liam's soft voice, accompanied by a gentle hand on Zayn's shoulder, "you're losing weight at an alarming rate, and yet you say you're still eating regularly. If you're eating as much as you seem to be, you shouldn't be losing that kind of weight. Can you understand why we're worried? There are so many different reasons why someone might lose weight in spite of having healthy eating habits, and some of those reasons have to do with very serious illnesses. Maybe you're fine, and we're overreacting, but wouldn't it make you feel more at ease if you could be sure that you weren't seriously ill? I know it would make me feel better, and going to the doctor is the only way of being sure."

Zayn is trapped. He doesn't want Liam worrying, and it seems as though the only way to stop him from worrying is to visit the doctor. However, he doesn't know what the doctor will do - the doctor is too much of an unpredictable factor, and he doesn't know if he could go through with an appointment. He could try to pretend to have gone to the doctor, but he's almost certain that Liam will want to come with him - and even if Liam doesn't insist on coming with him, then some form of security will probably be forced into accompanying him.

"How about we figure out my outfit for now," Zayn replies, trying to buy some time, "we can talk about doctors later, right now we only have a couple of hours to find something else for me to wear."

He is surrounded by concerned faces, reluctant to drop the subject, but they all seem to realize that they haven't got much choice.

"I guess I'd better see what I can do," says Caroline.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, the title is from the Fall Out Boy song, "20 Dollar Nosebleed," because I suck at thinking up titles.


End file.
